


and as the dance goes on, the hero always falls

by fits_in_frames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-16
Updated: 2007-10-16
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(They fuck three times before they leave Cicero.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and as the dance goes on, the hero always falls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angabella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angabella/gifts).



> _love is insincere_  
>  _that gets to be too much_  
>  _let yourself heal_  
>  _hoping to feel_  
>  _a familiar touch_  
>  _and as the dance goes on_  
>  _the hero always falls_  
>  _touching the ground_  
>  _spinning around_  
>  _a miniature doll_  
>  {[burning down rome](http://www.myspace.com/burningdownrome) // [anya](http://www.box.net/shared/6rdpqpicxr)}
> 
>  _what we call pleasure, and rightly so, is the absence of all pain._  
>  {marcus tullius cicero}  
> 
> 
> Coda to "The Kids are Alright".

(They fuck three times before they leave Cicero.)

*

When Dean gets back to the motel, he doesn't ask what Sam's been doing or why the holy water is out, doesn't offer any explanation as to where he's been. He just yanks him away from his computer and practically growls down his throat when their mouths press together, his lips saturated with unbridled want and _ohgodyes_ , his tongue still lingering around her name, his fingers heavy with need under Sam's belt. Dean fucks Sam from behind, skin to skin, sharp and hot and painful, notwords and notnames coming out of his mouth in little grunts and puffs of air. He comes on the motel bed, which groans and squeaks as he gets off it, and announces he's going to take a shower, leaving Sam to take care of his own cock by himself.

(It only takes a few quick strokes, and then he goes back to his research and doesn't think about how when he opened his eyes again, he couldn't tell what came out of him and what came out of Dean.)

*

They eat dinner in the little cafe next to the motel, and barely say a word to each other. Dean inhales his food and picks at Sam's french fries as he chats up the pretty blonde waitress when she comes back to check on them. He calls her sweetheart and smirks at her, and Sam suddenly loses his appetite. He stands up and Dean tells him not to wait up for him. Sam looks back and Dean waggles his eyebrows and the girl giggles, and it almost makes Sam want to vomit.

He's looking up dispelling rituals from the Middle East when Dean opens the door, his mouth still attached to Tammy or Christy or whatever her name is, who hasn't even changed out of her uniform. She pulls away from him, bites her lip, mouths _goodbye_ , and Dean practically falls into the room, tripping over his own feet, grinning stupidly. There's lipstick on his chin and a quiet fire in his eyes. Sam just stands there with his hands on his hips.

"I thought you'd be balls-deep in Blondie by now," he says as Dean walks towards him.

"Shut up," Dean says, grabbing Sam's collar, "and fuck me."

So Sam fucks him, slowly, deeply, ignoring the ache in his knees and at the back of his throat. Dean groans and curses under his breath with every thrust, and Sam bites his lip when he pulls out and comes, quietly, on the floor with his hand still resting on the small of Dean's back, slick with sweat.

(He takes a shower and pretends he doesn't hate himself when he hears Dean moan his name through the thin bathroom door.)

*

Sam's hair isn't even dry when Dean, fully-clothed, puts his ankles up on his shoulders and spits in his hand. He doesn't argue, doesn't protest, just twists his hands in the blankets and sheets and lets Dean fuck him, fast and hard, lets Dean come on the bed, his bed, again.

Dean falls backwards onto his heels, and then, not even bothering to pull his pants up around his waist, half-crawls up to rest his head where Sam's chest meets his shoulder. His eyes flutter shut while his lips are still swollen from sucking on the underside of Sam's chin, and Sam really has no choice but to wrap an arm around his brother, because feeling overprotective is better than his default feeling of awkward and useless and wrong. It does something for the dull gnawing in the pit of his stomach, too, right where Dean's hand is resting, rough and warm and dry, with slightly curved fingers. The soft familiarity of his palm and the light, feather-touch of his fingertip calluses are comforting, almost too comforting, because it's completely unintentional. Sam knows this, and he knows Dean will get up in a few minutes, rub his eyes, stumble into his own bed, and that will be that, Sammy, you bring this up in the daytime and you'll get slugged across the face, like that one time in Florida. But now, right now, he decides it doesn't really matter.

(When Dean calls him Sammy the next morning, it burns worse than the scalding hot coffee they buy at the gas station on the way out of town, but he doesn't mention either.)


End file.
